


Red tape to red string

by sherbal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: He's a famous blogger for Christ's sake, M/M, Sherlock's missing, except Mycroft bc he lost his job, he lost his job actually, im not good with writing Sherlock so I send him to Iraq, john is a celebrity sort of, lots of horrible jokes, mycrfot is having a mid-life crisis, no angst no heartbroken, no johnlock sorry again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherbal/pseuds/sherbal
Summary: When Mycroft is no longer the British government and with Sherlock missing, what could the famous blogger John Watson do to continue solving crimes and taking care of Rosie?Set after S04E02, I hate Eurus so much so I just ignore the finale.Let's all pretend there is no evil sister locked in an asylum in the middle of nowhere.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For eastern and western readers,  
> Red tape is bureaucracy.  
> Red string is a symbol of linking two people in love, used by yuelao(an old man in charge of romance and marriage, sort of like Cupid) in Eastern Asian tales.

It all begun on a normal Monday. When Mycroft walked into his office building with his usual self-satisfied smugness and a cup of coffee brought by his assistants, he found out his pass card was not working.  
After his third attempt at trying to frown at the machine and sort of will it to make him enter the building, the securities came to solve his dilemma and dragged him into the building and then, he was sent to his office accompanied by three guards.  
It was a real shame, dozens of his assistants saw their boss being escorted (dragged) all the way through the lobby and the corridor to his office, which turned out to be someone else's already.  
The cabinet secretary Sir Arnold was there, along with James Ashton, one of his most revolting and cunning colleagues, and the chairman of the JIC, Sir William Oven, who he seldom saw those days. It was just a title. Mycroft did most of the jobs for that old fart who gladly took all the credit. That's what politicians do, taking all the credit and enjoy bathing themselves in the appreciation of the public.  
All three of them was waiting quietly in their chairs for his presence.  
"May I ask, to what do I own the pleasure of having the cabinet secretary and the chairman here?" He nodded slightly to the two lords and glanced at Ashton.  
Mycroft stretched his arms a bit after the securities released him and closed the door for them.  
"Mycroft, do sit down. I specifically asked them not to make a scene. Apparently the securities never listen carefully." Said the cabinet secretary.  
"Arnold, then what's all this about? This is not an emergency drill, is it?" He sat down before his desk and looked carefully at the man who was sitting in his chair.  
"Do you remember the GRE team which was employed by you this March?" The esteemed cabinet secretary looked distant. They were close in some ways. All civil servants were close in a way that they only stick together when it comes to wooing the ministers.  
"Yes, we've been trying to stop using free-lances for some time. But we have no option but to adopt GRE to complete the mission of saving the hostages in the Iraq embassy at that time. The US elections were taking up too many of our forces."  
"Then you'll also remember that the GRE failed and the mission was an appalling disaster which led to twenty two staff members and the ambassador and her husband being killed by the ISIS terrorists."  
"I thought I have already been through several hearings to report this matter in full closure. Was there something I missed?" He quickly went through the mission in his flash drive brain and nothing seemed inappropriate to him.  
"We believe you have missed a couple of things." Arnold exchanged worried glances with his associates. "You are suspected of collaboration with the ISIS, Mycroft."  
"But that's absurd. After years of loyal services to the queen and country, I'm accused of collusion with the Islamic mob?" Mycroft stood up and glared at his fellow workers with shock.  
"We have some evidences that may support the point. But there's further investigations needed to be done. We are not putting charges on you, not now. However, as the investigation going, you'll have to step off from your current position before we have sufficient evidence about your innocence or your collusion."  
Mycroft opened his mouth trying to protest.  
"Save it, Mycroft. This is nothing personal, we only follow the rules and Sir Arnold even came to inform you personally." One of his most revolting colleagues, James Ashton said behind him.  
"Your bank accounts will be frozen for a while before being reviewed throughly by our people, which may cause some minor trouble." Arnold stood up. "You'll be suspended for as long as it takes for us to investigate this matter. James will take over your place before you're proved clean to come back."  
"Fine, I believe you will find nothing that connects me to the ISIS. How extraordinary! It's a frame, aiming at me personally."  
"Mycroft, we all wish for you to return early. The government needs your service but you see, this matter has already alerted the prime minister and after all, it's concerning the national security. There is no other way to do this."  
"I assure you that I'm clean, Arnold. After years of working with you, you know I'm not someone who shamelessly betrays his own country and gang up with some mob."  
"Don't leave London until the investigation is done. I think you know our people will have an eye on you." Arnold showed him the door.  
Mycroft snorted at the securities that would escort him out of the building. Those people always are so eager to suck up to whoever sits in that chair. Just yesterday, the man on his right kindly held the door for him, and now he looked like he was throwing out a stray dog. The only thing that security guy didn't do was kicking his bottoms out of the gate.  
When he came out of the door, he found there was no car waiting outside for him.  
Seriously, was it necessary to even deprive him of his daily transport? His associates, his driver and what about his cooks, his maids and his dentist?  
Mycroft believed this was a frame-up, directly aiming to overthrow him, not that he is the current king of England.  
//  
He went home in a taxi, a bloody smelly tiny London taxi! He couldn't stretch his legs in there.  
His neighbors were probably reading FT in their absurdly luxurious office or busy coming up with wicked ideas to frame their colleagues in Westminster.  
Only him, going home on a Monday morning.  
Now he looked like a millionaire's teenage spoiled daughter with a hung-over coming home after a whole night's orgy or something.  
He went in quickly, couldn't afford to be seen by any kind-hearted neighbors, though there actually wasn't any in Chelsea.  
Now he needed to think, to call a few old friends, to use all his connections to find out which little bastard dared to do this to him.  
This wasn't the first time, but last time, he was only in charge of three people and the one who framed him was now working in the vehicle licensing center in Swansea.  
He thought he had got everything under control but he surely didn't expect this kind of back-stabbing.  
//  
John was going to die of anger. He felt his hear was going to explode because one Sherlock freaking Holmes was gone missing for days.  
He called Mycroft, which he usually did when he found there was something wrong with Sherlock. The Holmes brothers were actually the top two contacts in his phone. John wondered how morbid he would be to wind up calling these two often.  
The odd thing is that Mycroft didn't answer the phone until he called him for about the third time.  
"Hi Mycroft, it's John. Sherlock's gone missing for about half a week. Know where he's been?"  
John thought Mycroft would reassure him that Sherlock was okay and he had people on him and then John would gladly hung up and go on with his life.  
"Is he? I'm sorry John, I don't know. Please call me if you know."  
Mycroft sounded... listless?  
"What's the matter? You usually know and you usually are more... concerned?"  
"Nothing. I've got something urgent to deal with at the moment. Goodbye, John." And Mycroft hung up the phone.

Three days later still nothing from Sherlock, John couldn't stand it. He tried to call Mycroft but the genius's genius brother didn't pick up. John must have called him about twenty times before he gave up and decided to see him in person.  
He went to that weird club of Mycroft's and was informed by the kind-hearted(arrogant) receptionist that Mycroft hadn't been here for days.  
It was even more strange that John thought Mycroft loves that club and surely would pop in for a drink with papers now and then.  
He then went to Mycroft's house, hoping he wouldn't feel too lost in the Chelsea district.

He buzzed the doorbell for about ten minutes and a stranger appeared to open the door for him.  
"Oh, hi, I'm looking for Mycroft Holmes for about his brother." John said to the man before he took a closer glance at him.  
"Mycroft! What on earth are you.. what happened? What's that beard and pajamas? Do I come at a wrong time?" John stared at the bearded stranger in pajamas. For a second, he thought this was Mycroft's secret artist boyfriend or something.  
"This is a bad time, John. Is Sherlock still missing?" Mycroft showed no intention of letting John in.  
"Yes, wait a minute. What happened? You're never like this. Are you on your holiday or a mini-break? You look like you've never been out for weeks. Are you okay?"  
"I'm fine, John. Thanks for asking. I don't know where is Sherlock and I'll let you know as soon as he contacts me." Mycroft prepared to close the door and John quickly jammed his foot between the gap.  
Mycroft glared at him and tried his best to intimidate John, but both of them knew this wouldn't work. John pushed the door open and barged in, in a sherlockian way. Mycroft closed the door and followed him in.  
"Mycroft, are you having a middle-life crisis or are you always like this when you're not busy kidnapping people and running the MI6?" John was shocked by the sight he saw in the house. The room was dim with curtains closed. Several takeaway boxes and papers lying on the fine carpet and even the living room reeked of cigarettes.  
"You do know Sherlock was in a similar state when he didn't have a case for weeks." John couldn't imagine what upstairs look like considering the horrible scene at the living room.  
"I'm fine. Would you get out kindly and close the door when you leave?" Mycroft swept away some newspapers from the sofa and sat down.  
"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on." John crossed his arms, he always knew what to do when Sherlock is like this.  
Mycroft refused to talk and lit another cigarette.  
John went over the sofa and drew the cigarette out of Mycroft mouth. The bearded man looked surprised for a moment.  
"Your brother has been missing for a week and you're behaving like him. Have you two swapped bodies? You look like a Sherlock without cases." Mycroft lit another cigarette and completely ignored him.  
John pulled the cigarette out of Mycroft's mouth again and before the tall man could do something, John threw away the remaining cigarettes into the a bowl of unfinished noodles.  
"Tell me, Mycroft. Did you lose your job as the head of MI5 or MI6 or whatever the government uses to control its people?"  
Mycroft was stunned. After half a minute, he nodded. He was actually surprised at how John could tell. But it was fairly obvious in a way.  
"When was the last time you stepped out of the house?" John asked.  
"It's not impor..."  
"Of course it is."  
"Two weeks ago."  
"It's not okay but I need you to tighten up. You look like you're rotting in your dungeon. Now, go take a shower and put on some clothes. You need to go outside for a walk and a meal. This room is toxic."  
"I don't feel the need to..."  
"Take a shower, now!" John used his best captain face to command Mycroft. Sherlock always listened reluctantly when he pulled that face. He felt like he was their nanny really.  
Mycroft got up and went upstairs. John looked at this rubbish recycling station and finally he opened the curtains to let in a bit of fresh air.  
//  
When Mycroft came downstairs, John was in the middle of clearing away the takeaway boxes on the carpet.  
"You can't go out like this."  
Mycroft was in his usual three-piece suits but with his beards.  
"What?" Mycroft threw up his hands.  
"I can't be seen walking with a sugar-daddy styled fancy-dressing westend agent! People will think I'm debuting my first album."  
Mycroft glared at him really hard that his eyes may fall out of their sockets.  
"I don't know you catch that much media attentions, John." Mycroft finally said.  
"I bet you do. I've been asked for autographs, well Sherlock's autographs about eight times a day. Can't even buy a bagel without being recognized. Thanks to your brother's showing-off theses years."  
Mycroft went upstairs without further arguing.

A few minutes later, he returned with a grey hoddies and a pair of white sweatpants.  
"Now you look like Madonna's boyfriends."  
Mycroft frowned at him and before he could say another word.  
"That's okay." John reassured him.


End file.
